Give me Sandburg praising Chicago, City of the Big Shoulders, Hog Butcher for the World. Give me Baraka’s 20 Volume Suicide Note… Bukowsky’s Last Night of the Earth.Play me the sour-sung dirges of smoke-filled bars. Sing me Joplin’s raspy “Half Moon” and growl those long-gone down-on-the-dirt-floor-cellar rants from some of Tom Waits’ Saturday nights. And while I’m at it… don’t be putting goddamn strawberries in my rhubarb pie-- like to sweeten the poetry right out of ’em! I like my eloquence straight up and tart!